


The Only Exception

by Maralee



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Geralt you must take care of your human, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Seriously i love them but they're dumbasses, also i tried to keep it not too shippy but it's there, also what is plot?, just a bard and his witcher on the road together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25663930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maralee/pseuds/Maralee
Summary: A few weeks into his travels with Jaskier, Geralt is still adjusting to having a companion with him.(Or in which Geralt remembers humans have needs, monsters are dangerous, and there is only one damn bed.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 206





	The Only Exception

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my tumblr, but I did some editing and here it is! I'm still new to tag warnings but there is some description of violence & injury, and some mild language.
> 
> Also, my extent of knowing witcher lore is the Netflix series and snippets of fandom, so there might be inaccuracies/ some out-of-character bits. I also tried to keep it not too shippy, but this is also self-indulgent so *shrugs*
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy!

In hindsight, it really was all Geralt's fault--even if he insisted to Jaskier, in his usual few words, that the bard should've spoke up for himself; Witchers had different needs than humans, and if Jaskier wanted to stay along with him, he needed to realize that.

(Ironic, Geralt mused to himself, that such a chatty bard could say so much yet nothing at all. Then again, flowery words were the way of bards.)

But truly, it was Geralt's fault. He'd been so caught up in the frustration of not being able to travel alone, that he ignored Jaskier as much as he could. (The bard could really prattle on about anything.)

Geralt pushed them harder than he should've, partly to discourage Jaskier from continuing to travel with him--because it was dangerous, for obvious reasons, and he didn't actually wish Jaskier dead. 

But mostly, he was just going at his usual pace.

His folly would become clear soon, though: Jaskier was exhausted.

At first, it was a relief to him, the silence. So Geralt didn't think much of it. In fact he even welcomed it--peace for the first time in weeks.

But then it became unsettling: Jaskier was quiet, mostly, one evening except for the occasional idle strum of his lute. Geralt could feel, smell--the sense was difficult to explain--the exhaustion rolling off him.

Jaskier would settle into his bedroll, mildly complaining about his feet, how sore he was; hum a random tune; and then fell asleep rather quickly.

In the morning, though, Jaskier was almost bouncing on his heels--Geralt could sense his energy thrumming through him and had half a mind to throw his pillow at him--so Geralt brushed it off as a one time occurrence.

And then it happened again. And again. And again.

Jaskier was yawning into him palm for the umpteenth time a few nights later, on a long stretch of a quiet road, a fair distance from the next village. (Some might say that the bard was doing it to get sympathy, but Geralt knew it was genuine.)

It was probably a moment of weakness. 

Geralt found himself sighing a curse under his breath and then, before he could talk himself out of it, said: "Get on Roach."

Well, he'd never been known to say please, right?

Jaskier gave him a baffled look. "...What?"

Geralt stared straight ahead, managing not to roll his eyes. What was he thinking, offering this? Was he thinking at all?

"Get on Roach," He repeated, despite himself. "Or did I stutter?"

Jaskier blinked at him. "But you never let me even touch Roach."

"I know."

"So do you expect me to ride Roach without touching him or--"

Geralt gave a light tug on the reins, and Roach stopped.

"Oh, you're serious!" Jaskier adopted a look that was probably meant to be smug, but lost it's potency by the relief rolling off him. 

"Are you going soft on me now, O White Wolf?"

Geralt leveled him with a flat look, grunting. Jaskier raised his hands in mock surrender, chuckling slightly, but then adjusted his lute and managed to get behind Geralt with minimal fumbling.

(Geralt tried to quell the quiet satisfaction of Jaskier's warmth behind him.)

But it got worse on his next hunt, and Geralt knew something had to change--and quickly, if Jaskier was going to stay alive in their travels.

Of course, with Jaskier not being a fighter at best, Geralt planned on leaving him at camp during the hunt. He woke from his meditation in the early, dim light just before dawn, the forest nearly quiet except for crickets and chirps of birds, and the soft snores of Jaskier.

Geralt moved about camp, quiet as a ghost, for Jaskier had proved to be a light sleeper whenever he tried this before. After adjusting his armor, and grabbing his swords and some potions, Geralt prepared to leave on foot--to investigate the last sighting--

Everything went quiet, and still. (Except for Jaskier's snoring.)

Geralt's neck prickled. The monster was nearby.

"Fuck." Geralt drew his sword, and hurriedly shook Jaskier awake.

Jaskier took precious moments to wake, and blinked blearily at him. "'S too early. Shoo."

The bard settled back on his bedroll, clearing trying to go back to sleep.

Running out of patience, Geralt hauled Jaskier to his feet, ignoring his protests.

"Geralt--what--Oi fuck off--"

"Shut up," Geralt hissed under his breath, shoving Jaskier against a nearby tree, trying to figure where the monster is at.

"Well, if you wanted me all alone all you had to do was ask," Jaskier lilted, wagging his eyebrows. Geralt barely spared him a glare, but in the corner of his eye he saw understanding flicker-- finally--in Jaskier, who quickly started following Geralt's gaze. "The monster?"

So quiet, under his breath, but Geralt heard it clear as a whisper. Same as the leaves rustling nearby, somewhere over his shoulder. Roach knickered uncertainly on his other side.

Geralt saw a flicker of a shadow among the trees.

Definitely here. 

He gripped Jaskier's arm, silently urging him toward Roach.

Jaskier's blue eyes hardened, shaking his head firmly. Either the growing light made it easier for him to see, or Geralt's eyes were bright enough to spot.

Geralt grunted, and leaned forward to whisper in Jaskier's ear. He kept his eyes flicking around, not liking how vulnerable this made him, but he needed to be clear with Jaskier--and not be heard by the monster, if it could understand them.

(He tried to ignore the soft hitch in Jaskier's breathing, or the way his pulse sped up. He tried to ignore the almost intoxicating scent of--it was really a pain to be able to smell another's feelings.)

"I'll draw it away. Get Roach and go."

Geralt surged away before Jaskier could argue, brandishing his sword.

If Jaskier and Roach were out of danger, Geralt only had to worry about himself. The fight would be simple and fast.

But then, things were never that easy as far as Jaskier was concerned.

Geralt had things handled. (He told himself, as he was shoved against a tree, his sword clattering in the darkness. Teeth and vile slime hovered near his face, smelling something awful.)

A shout came nearby, and Geralt might've cursed under his breath if he could spare it; but he spotted Jaskier in the dawning light--the stupid, brave idiot--charging the damn thing with Geralt's wayward sword, even though Geralt knew it would be useless in the bards hands.

The monster looked at Jaskier for a moment, as though trying to figure if he was worth giving up his current prize, then hissed hideously.

Jaskier, to his credit, managed to contain his yelp, and slashed wildly. Geralt wasn't sure if he was actually doing any damage, but he took advantage of the distraction just the same--

Geralt stunned the monster, kicking it away, and, to his slight surprise, Jaskier wordlessly handed him his sword.

Geralt lunged forward, and made short work of it, half covered in guts and mud. As he always seemed to be at the end of these things.

Jaskier whooped behind him. "That was quite the fight!" He started musing about lyrics and rhymes, as if he didn't just risk his life (and nearly give Geralt a heart attack).

"Damn it, Jaskier!" He snapped, whirling on Jaskier, fully intending on giving the bard a piece of his mind, but--

"What?" Jaskier asked, and frowned at Geralt. "You look like you've seen a ghost--and there's another one right behind me, isn't there?"

Geralt grumbled under his breath. Why did this courageous idiot have to worm his way into his--(heart)--life?

"Jaskier--"

"Already gone!"

Jaskier darted away--but the other monster was faster, pinning him viciously to the ground.

If these monsters smelt awful, then Jaskier's rolling fear took his breath away.

"Geralt!" Jaskier cried.

Geralt lept into action, using a witcher sign to stun the monster as he had done to the other before, and tackled the monster off Jaskier.

(Jaskier's panicked shouts and the smell of thick copper made Geralt see red.)

He gave the creature no mercy, skewering it until it couldn't even twitch anymore. The forest fell silent again, but for Geralt's heavy breathing and Jaskier's panicked heartbeat.

To his dismay, Jaskier's pulse didn't calm.

"Uh...Geralt..." Jaskier seemed to choke out the words, and Geralt rounded on him, his stomach dropping when he saw blood--blood on Jaskier's hands, his clothes. 

Jaskier cradled his side as he tried to get to his feet, but his legs buckled. Geralt caught him before he even knew what he was doing.

His scent was a mix of pain, fear, fatigue, and--concern?

"Are you hurt?" Jaskier asked him, as if he weren't bleeding out in Geralt's arms. He reached a hand up, touching Geralt's forehead, which stung slightly, but Geralt couldn't bring himself to care.

"Just hang on, Jaskier. I've got you."

\--

Geralt entered the village around noon, the sun irkingly bright and the sky almost beautiful--but he didn't care.

Jaskier was dozing in his arms, pale and head lolling as Geralt drew to a stop. The bard had fallen unconscious hours ago, while Geralt had started cleaning and dressing his wound--an angry gouge that must've been extremely painful, if Jaskier's slight pinched expression was anything to go by.

The bleeding had stopped and Geralt was almost certain infection was no longer a concern--but Jaskier had still lost a lot of blood, and Geralt was no healer.

Villagers skirted around him, clearly not wanting to approach a Witcher. (He probably looked downright murderous, clutching the bleeding bard to his chest.)

"A healer!" He barked. Roach neighed as if to underline his urgency.

"That way." A villager pointed down a nondescript path.

Geralt was already off, not staying to see who had directed him or offer thanks.

(All he could hear was Jaskier's slowing pulse and uneasy breathing echoing in his ears. Geralt felt a cold fear taking root in his chest, and he wasn't sure what scared him more.)

\--

Geralt settled Jaskier into the village inn the following night.

"You should've stayed with the healer," Geralt grumbled, but he could sense the steely determination in Jaskier; it was a losing battle to argue with the bard, so skilled in the way of words.

"And risk you stowing away into the night?" Jaskier retorted, energetic but edged with pain as he perched on the edge of the bed. "Not a chance, my dear Witcher."

Jaskier gingerly laid himself back, breathing heavily as though it exhausted him. He'd gotten most of his color back, thanks to the healer's medicine, a long sleep, and a bowl of hearty stew.

But Geralt knew he was still a long way from being able to travel. He could leave or get a separate room, but still Geralt found himself taking off his armor and placing his swords near the bed.

(He couldn't quite bring himself to leave the bard alone. Not when he had to be half carried to the inn, and nearly fainted going up the stairs.)

"Oh, stop brooding, would you?" Jaskier said, scrunching his nose. Geralt realized he'd been glaring at the floor. "I'm safe, warm, and I've got a rather handsome Witcher looking after me."

The bastard winked at him.

Geralt rolled his eyes, and laid down on the other side of the bed after taking off his boots. (They'd been traveling together long enough that they'd had to share a room or a bed from time to time, so it wasn't unusual.)

"So," Jaskier said conversationally. "I don't suppose you want to talk about your feelings?"

Geralt gave him a baffled look. What was the bard on about now?

"I mean, you've been...I don't know...different."

"Different?" Geralt asked. Acting purposely obtuse.

(He may be relieved that Jaskier's going to be alright, but that doesn't mean he's about to let the idiot off the hook for risking his life.)

Jaskier snorted, as if he knew Geralt was being petty. "You know what I mean. You act like you're this big tough...well, lone wolf. But truthfully, I think you do care."

"Don't flatter yourself." Geralt swallowed. "Witcher's don't have feelings."

"Nah. I don't buy it."

Geralt heard the smile in his voice. He looked up at the rafters, wondering how he let himself get so attached--and so transparent.

"Sleep, Jaskier," Geralt ordered. "Before I knock you out myself."

(There was no real bite.) Jaskier just laughed.

Geralt smiled to himself. He didn't like having companions.

But he could make an exception.


End file.
